Tolkienist against Mary Sue
by Baran3
Summary: I am one of the few readers who both approve and reject Marysue. Very few authors are good at writing Marysue and striking the right balance between sugarnausea and true stories. One day I asked myself what if a responsible tolkienist was against a Marysu
1. Prelude

**TOLKIENIST AGAINST MARY-SUE**

Disclaimer : I own nothing except Morgan and Vicky.

I am one of the few readers who both approve and reject Mary-sue. Very few authors are good at writing Mary-sue and striking the right balance between sugar-nausea and true stories. One day I asked myself what if a responsible tolkienist was against a Mary-sue. Here is the story of such character.

Character created with the rules of the Lord of the Rings.

Name: Morgan Uther Pendragon.

Chronicle: The Lord of the Rings.

Race: human (European from beyond the veil). Gender: female. Size: medium. Age: 16 years.

Hair: black. Eyes: black. Height: 1m60. Weight: 55 kg.

Orders: none (loremaster).

Elite orders:

Advancements:

Attributes:

Bearing: 13 (+3)

Nimbleness: 10 (+2) (favoured)

Perception: 9 (+1)

Strength: 8 (+1)

Vitality: 9 (+1)

Wits: 13 (+3) (favoured)

Reactions:

Stamina+1

Swiftness+2

Willpower+5 (favoured)

Wisdom+3

Corruption:

Initiative:

Defence: 10 + 2

Renown: 0

Courage: 4

Weariness: Hale (fully rested) (0), Winded (-1), Tired (-2), Weary (-4), Spent (-8) and Exhausted.

Health (10): Healthy (0), Dazed (-1), Injured (-3), Wounded (-5), Incapacitated (-7) and Near Death (-9).

Racial abilities:

Adaptable+2 to willpower.

The dominion of Man+1 point of courage.

Skilled+2 rank to one skill or +1 rank to two skills.

Order abilities:

None.

Edges:

Gift of tongues+3 to all language tests.

Accurate recall+2 to all lore tests.

Ambidextrous: -4 penalty for using off-hand.

Fair+4 to persuade (charm) and inspire tests.

Incorruptible+4 to willpower against corruption.

Flaws:

Code of honour: you considered yourself a 'knight'.

Dull-eyed: you always need glasses.

Enemy: Vicky Bates.

Provincial upbringing: you came from another dimension.

Skills:

Acrobatics (balance) +1, armed combat (blades) (longsword) +1, craft (cooking) +1, debate (negotiate) +2, healing (treat wounds) +1, inquire (converse) +1, insight +1, language English +4, language French +4, language German +4, language Russian +4, language Chinese +2, lore history (England) +4, lore history (Europe)+4, lore realm (England) +4, lore realm (Europe) +4, lore realm (Chinese) +2, perform (flute) +2, ride (horse) +1, swim +1.

Spells:

None.

Weapons:

None.

Equipment and gear:

Flute and flute case.

School backpack.

School books.

Paper books, pens and pencils.

Gym school uniform and sports shoes.

Wealth:

Copper pennies (cp): 0

Silver pennies (sp): 0

Silver pieces (SP): 0

Gold pennies (gp): 0

Gold pieces (GP): 0

**PRELUDE**

The world is changed. I feel it in the water.

I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air.

Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it.

It began with the forging of the Rings of Power.

Three were given to the Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings.

Seven were given to the Dwarves, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls.

And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else desire power.

For within these rings was bound the power and the will to rule each race.

But they were all of them deceived, for deep in the land of Mordor, the Dark Lord Sauron

forged another ring, a master ring, and into this ring he poured all his cruelty, his malice and

his will to dominate every living thing.

One ring to rule them all.

One by one, the free peoples of Middle Earth fell to the power of the Ring, but there were

some who resisted.

A last alliance of men and elves marched against the armies of Mordor, and on the very slopes

of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle-Earth.

Victory was near, but the power of the ring could not be undone.

It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the king, took up his

father's sword.

And Sauron, enemy of the free peoples of Middle-Earth, was defeated.

The Ring passed to Isildur, who had this one chance to destroy evil forever, but the hearts of

men are easily corrupted.

And the ring of power has a will of its own.

It betrayed Isildur, to his death.

And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend.

Legend became myth.

For two and a half thousand years, the ring passed out of all knowledge.

Until, when chance came, the ring ensnared another bearer.

The ring came to the creature Gollum, who took it deep into the tunnels under the Misty

Mountains, and there it consumed him.

The ring gave to Gollum unnatural long life.

For five hundred years it poisoned his mind, and in the gloom of Gollum's cave it waited.

Darkness crept back into the forests of the world.

Rumour grew of a shadow in the East, whispers of a nameless fear, and the Ring of Power

perceived that its time had come.

It abandoned Gollum, but then something happened that the Ring did not intend.

It was picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable.

A hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire.

For the time will soon come when hobbits will shape the fortunes of all.

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

In the lands of Middle Earth, myth tells of the dark Lord Sauron and the Ring that would give

him the power to enslave the world. Lost for centuries, it has been sought by many.

And has now found its way into the hands of the most unlikely creature.

Frodo Baggins, a small hobbit deprived of the knowledge of the growing darkness throughout

the land.

But fate has chosen him and a great journey lies before him.

A quest to destroy the One Ring...

This task cannot be performed by Frodo alone. A Fellowship will protect him and an

unspeakable evil will pursue them.

But there is an unseen evil searching Arda for herself. She will hunt them mercilessly.

And she cannot be stopped by man, dwarf, or elf.

She was sent to protect them. A mortal girl throw into our world to counteract the actions

brought by another mortal girl.

With the knowledge of the futures events sealed in her memory by the grace of the Valar.

She will gain enemies...

Lose friends...

And make the ultimate decision.

For the whole of Middle Earth will depend on her very actions against the evil one who think

only of herself.


	2. Death

**TOLKIENIST AGAINST MARY-SUE**

Disclaimer : I own nothing except Morgan and Vicky.

Note: There was a choice to make at the very beginning. Will I follow the books or the films? After some reflection I decided to do both. The plot follows the scenario of the films with various pieces of the book injected when I deemed it appropriate.

**Chap 1: DEATH.**

The strange feelings began in my legs the first day, a tingling in my toes so that I could sense them more than usual. At first I thought it was nothing more than the blood rushing in my toes after a long immobilization but when I realized that it was not stopping, I knew something was wrong.

The feeling was not sudden; it crept, in a way. And I was soon certain that any physiological reasons were not the cause, because wherever I went the feeling followed, changing my feet into electrical generators. Thinking back, I couldn't remember anything that could be the cause of the oddity. No amount of massage or movements could banish it. There wasn't a disease or fatal virus I knew about which involved electrified feet, so I ignored the problem and didn't tell anyone.

A few days before a festival in my school, my ankles felt the strange sensation, and I feared what could be wrong with me. Still, I cheerfully continued to help the five other girls I worked with set up for our medieval-life stand. We all signed up for time slots, and a couple of girls said that they could stay at the booth the entire day. I wondered how on earth anybody could have a life so empty that they would waste all a day sitting behind tables and decked in medieval-style dress.

I was not the type to waste time or energy, and I liked to be doing something different most of the time. I was an avid reader and writer, a fairly good scholar in history, an amateur with the flute and, due to my interest in the medieval fan-club, a passable Lady of the past. Parallel to that, I was a normal teenager girl of sixteen, with a healthy interest in boys and others proper cultural occupations.

My life was normal enough for a city dweller in London. I went to a good school and my marks were more than sufficient to open prestigious schools for the future. I stayed in contact with the world at large by the internet or the television. I was not an isolated introvert with glasses and have a fair share of friends and acquaintances in both sexes. Only two things make me stand apart from the others: My full name and my little obsession in the old books found in dark libraries. I always felt that there was a great deal more to be learned from the writings of the past.

The morning the stand opened, I could only feel the lower parts of my legs, and I had to look down to make sure my feet were not crackling with electricity. Our medieval stand was set up in the main park near our school, and the flags and canvas gave a nice atmosphere. That morning, I was working a slot of time with a girl that was my age, Linda.

I came in to find all our reproductions already set out, our boss and Linda already seated. We had covered the display tables in rough cloth the day before, in order to achieve an ancient effect, and today there were innumerable rings, necklaces, bracelets, fake weaponry and reproductions of medieval garbs of all sorts for sale, readily labeled.

"Well, good morning, Morgan!" the high, cockney-accented voice of our boss, Regina, called. She smiled at me gladly, pink blush coloring her defined cheekbones. Brown hair framed a square face.

Dumping my load, I greeted the two ladies. "Did you guys do all this today?" I asked, waving at the neat displays and price labels.

"This morning." Linda affirmed. My classmate was short, drowsy-eyed, and generally puerile. Words often burst from her loudly and raucously, like the sound of a balloon popping.

I sidled around the chairs and went directly for the changing area in the back. "Sorry, I didn't know, or else I would have been here."

"Oh, that's all right," replied Regina, her speech drawling. "Sylvia was here before she went to work."

I nodded. "Did she sign up for any slots today?" I asked.

"She's making her grandma work the time she signed for." Linda said evilly, biting her nails. I imagined that my classmate thought Sylvia's grandmother was some sort of slave with all the medieval confections that she baked for us.

I shrugged. "Well, okay."

Stretching after clothing myself in my medieval lady garb of black and green, I reached across a table for the book I had set down with a tea set for us. Reading the glistening title, The Fellowship of the Ring, I opened it, the pages fluttering freely in the breeze. J. R. R. Tolkien's words were a blur of flapping chapters, and I couldn't stop a shrewd look from growing in my eyes as I remembered the Fellowship's adventures. The characters and their quest to destroy the One Ring captivated me.

Whenever I finished a particularly incredible chapter, I would close the book and turn to the nearest person, showing them the shiny cover and advising, "You really should read this!" But whomever I was speaking to would only shrug and go on to something else. There was no polite interest, no questions like "Oh? What's it about?" or "I never have, but the movie looks good," or even better, "I know! Aren't they just the best books ever written?"

Unable to put it down, I had finished The Return of the King at two o'clock in the morning one recent summer night. I had quietly sobbed and sniffled at the story's ending. It was not because it was sad, but just because it was a beautiful conclusion to a beautiful story. And plus, it was an ending. There was no more after that last page except for tales that could be spun in my imagination.

"Hey, where are you? You sure are dazed and out of sort today." Snickered Linda, bringing me suddenly out of Minas Tirith and Rohan and Mordor.

I grinned in spite of the electrical sensation in my legs. "Yeah, in more ways than one!"

"So… what are you going to be doing later?"

"I'm going to read." I said decisively, opening to "The Council of Elrond."

Taima watched disappointedly, and then slumped down in the chair yawning. "We should have brought a radio even if it was not in genre." she sighed with a groan.

That day and the next passed uneventfully, except for the gradual spreading of the strange feeling up to my knees. On the last day, I signed for three two-hour slots of work time, even if I wasn't really up to it. I was more tired than I had ever been during the summer, and yet my mind felt sparkling, as if a white flame was burning at its centre.

I had the morning shift with another student in my grade, a girl named Rachel. She was fast-talking and canny, and usually boisterous. She had brought one of her younger girl friends, Melissa, to keep her company. They had similar personalities, which meant I would have to deal with double the noise I had been expecting. Sylvia's grandmother, Mrs. Johnston, was there as a supervisor.

When I got to the stand that morning, I noticed my two peers with an inward groan. It was not that I found them offensive, but I was just not in the mood. I even didn't change in my medieval dress and deposited the tea set in its usual place, but I brought The Lord of the Rings with my school backpack behind the barricade of tables. My energized feet dragged across the grassy floor, and the sound was strangely reverberated in my all too clear and alighted head. I plopped into a metal chair, saying nothing other than my usual hello. I unproductively rubbed at the tense muscles in my calves. I was sincerely worried now that I had some sort of serious condition.

Linda wasted no time and shoved a gooey thing into my face, inquiring cheerily, "You want a Popsicle?" The evidence of the dessert was obvious around her mouth, which was stained purple.

More electricity… I thought. "No, thanks."

What I wanted most was rest, but a great number of costumers were getting their final choices for the last day, and the business was doing well. Halfway through my first shift, I was in great pain and could barely move without provoking a seizure in the muscles in my legs.

I rushed through the costumer I was assisting and collapsed into a seat to calm my throbbing pulse, gripping the edge of a table. "What's wrong with me?" I said aloud, the words somehow amplified in my head.

I had a fleeting, fiery urge to get out of the oppressive tent. I stood quickly, but then wavered precariously and gasped.

All week, it had been like I was standing in a rising puddle of electrified water that amplified all feeling in my feet, and then in my legs, mounting progressively to my waist. When I hurriedly stood in the medieval stand that day, the invisible puddle of energized water suddenly rose and submerged my entire form, leaving me with an utterly complete sense of any part of my body. Imaginary electrified needles pricked each inch of my skin.

I stood, paralyzed and terrified, my arms hanging limp at my sides. Every part of me burned, and my limbs were becoming heavy, lifeless burdens. Ignorant, my friends shoved around me and continued with their work, and I stared, breathing quickly, fearing that each gasp would be my last. Continuing to breathe was the only issue I could fully concentrate on in my traumatized state.

A deep booming command in my head yanked me out of the stupor. **Outside, outside, you must get outside! **

In a daze, I stumbled out of the tent. My arms were responding to external commands and grabbed my backpack on the way. I shoved a customer off as I made my way out. All of him was visible in incredibly details as if my senses were decupled. I could have told anyone in the future how many hairs he had, how much he weighted from my brief contact and what was the mark of his aftershave.

I staggered into a group of trees in the centre of the park and shrank into an all too-sensitive heap. I could see-hear-smell-taste-feel everything around me and in all directions simultaneously. But the one thing I could really feel was the silvery-white flame inside my mind, coursing through my soul in arcs of power that made my heart tremble.

Slowly, not willingly, I lifted a foreign hand that hung from what was supposed to be my wrist. To my surprise, I was still clutching The Fellowship of the Ring with white-knuckled strength, though I wasn't physically aware of it even with the inhuman level of sensation. I noted how faded and transparent the flesh there looked and I was almost sure that I was seeing the muscles beneath the skin.

There was a voice calling my full name from far off, beyond the screaming perception blasting through my being, and the sky above was growing dark. I opened and closed my eyes once, a laborious task, and fought for breath. But then there was a suffocating weight crushing down on my chest, and I knew no more.


	3. We're not in Kansas anymore

**TOLKIENIST AGAINST MARY-SUE**

Disclaimer : I own nothing except Morgan and Vicky.

Note: This is it. My character is about to enter middle-earth. I found many stories about this kind of things but very few showed how difficult it is for a modern person to suddenly deal with a medieval culture. Most should be completely lost and dependant of the kindness of others in order to survive. The term 'cultural shock' is not a vain term.

**Chap 2: WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE.**

The ordered piece of forested land was tame and well-kept, watered by a slender brook that laced itself through the bending, grey trees. Light ashen smokes puffing from short chimneys were visible in the horizon. It was simply a paradise coming back from the beginning of time when the hand of Man was light and thoughtful.

On a dirt path, a large chestnut horse was clopping briskly, pulling a wooden cart along the path. A single passenger perched on the cart's riding seat, his back slightly bowed with fatigue and age. He was clad entirely in long, woollen robes that were the colour of dark slate with a hooded grey cloak. His tall, pointed hat shadowed half of his weathered face, but his eyes shone piercingly under the brim. Grey hair waving over his broad shoulders, the man smoothed the long, white beard which flowed to his midsection. Boxes rattled in the cart, stamped with the familiar mark of the great wizard, Gandalf the Grey.

Glancing over his wares, a smirk lit his wrinkled countenance. His great friend Bilbo wanted the best fireworks anyone could offer for his long-expected Party. Gandalf was a master of fire and displays of smoke and light, and a long-time friend of Bilbo Baggins. Though he was considered an outcast and someone not to be trusted, all of the hobbit-village in the Shire knew and respected Gandalf.

Shafts of light filtered through the boughs above, and the forest life twittered and sang around the wizard and his horse. The soil was fertile and damp beneath the trees. The brook bubbled, and the woods reverberated with a comforting song. The song was broken a moment later.

All at once, there was a rush of violent wind all about Gandalf, bursting so unexpectedly and so furiously that he nearly looses the control of his cart. His cloak was ripped from his neck and blown across the stream, landing in the shadows. The gale rushed into the wizard's face, stinging his eyes and biting his skin with dust. The tumult was deafening.

As soon as it had come, the storm was gone, and Gandalf found that he had stopped his horse and that his hat was still miraculously on his head with his arms wrapped around protectively. He lifted his soiled face, gasping. The serene forest was no different than it had been before. Even the birds were still singing.

Searching vainly for a grey cloud in the sky, for a source of the storm, Gandalf stood, amazed. He had never experienced anything so sudden and fierce, nor had he ever heard of it happening to anyone else and beside, he should have sensed it because of his own power before it happened. Rattled, he secured his horse and cart and bounded across the slow-running stream to find his cloak.

He located it lying across the ground and trotted over to it. Yet when he lifted the hooded grey cloth, it was not earth or stone that he revealed underneath. Gandalf's blue stare glittered with confusion and disbelief, his brow puckering into a bewildered frown: He was looking upon a Lady. A Lady, he was absolutely sure, who was not present along his path before the sudden storm. He could not have missed the dark colours of her clothes over the green grass.

Speaking of clothes, this Lady was strangely garbed. A charcoal skirt, a dark green woollen sweater, black leather shoes and calf white socks. Near her left hand, there was a brown leather backpack and a small curious device made of transparent glass with a metallic frame. The Lady was on her stomach and had white skin with black long hair. His hand touched the side of her neck for a sign of life and immediately withdrawn.

Power. A flux of subtle and yet extremely intense power. The sensation was similar to the rush of energy he felt when he invoked the Secret Fire against the Shadow and its minions. This was no ordinary Lady. He sighed. Once again, the oath he took as an Istari was too damn inconvenient. He was almost near his destination but could not leave this place without answers to many questions. Making his camp here seemed a good idea as he knows there was not such a good emplacement for a too long time.

She awakened to a very intense headache. No, she was wrong. It was not a headache, it was a full-powered steam drill and its little friends and they have found numerous minerals in her head. Oops, wrong again. If what she senses was real, her entire body was the primary site of multiple teams of steam-powered engines. It hurts everywhere, so much that her pain-inducted loss of conscience was instantly annulled. Her moan of pain seems to come from a very, very long way.

After some time, the young girl managed to settle her general pain to a dull sensation through her entire body. Even her precedent almost supernatural clarity of mind was absent. Sensations begun to built a coherent image. She was on a woollen cloth on a grassy ground. She could sense the warmth and the characteristic sound of a…fire? She was still clothed under a rough sheet and a brass of plant was used as a pillow for her head. Rather sweet for whoever was near her. She could smell the subtle scent of pipe weed. With considerable effort, she managed to open her eyes.

Stars greet her with their gloriously majesty. For a brief moment, she was sure that they were singing to her in a celestial symphony and her general numbness flew from her body. She turned her head to the fire and managed to perceive a humanoid grey form. She squinted as she remarked that she didn't have her glasses. "Please, can you give me my glasses?"

Gandalf was puzzled. The young woman has finally regained conscience. He didn't find any problem with her when he makes camp around her. Her examination has revealed no physical problems and a rather beautiful face for someone of the race of Men. It was night when she emerged from her slumber and turned her deep black eyes to him. And he couldn't understand what she was saying. He was nicknamed the Grey Pilgrim for a reason and never has he heard such language. Thinking that the Lady has used her native tongue, he tried to initiate a conversation in Westron. "Hello, my Lady. How are you feeling?"

Morgan was stumped. She absolutely didn't recognize the language used and she was a talented linguist with a very good grasp of French, German, Russian and Chinese. She could feel a structure behind the sound but that was all. This was not good and she still couldn't see her rescuer. Hu? Rescuer from what? Everything that happened in the park collided in her mind and she stifled a cry of pain as she sat abruptly. A large warm hand was already steadying her and she smell an herbal sweet concoction in a cup pressed into her hands. The tea was slightly bitter but she drunk it eagerly as it soothes her headache. She was finally able to distinct the grey man at such a distance. A wise face with amazingly piercing blue eyes, grey hair in an abundant and rebel mane and a grandfatherly beard. The only false note was his dark slate woollen robe and…was that a sword at his side? "Who are you?"

He has been forced to use his gift of Spoken Thoughts in order to begin to communicate but her question was rather easy to understand due to the circumstances. His hand trace signs of power and her wary gaze followed them. "I am Gandalf the Grey."

"I…I can understand you!" She blinks twice.

"Yes, my Lady. I have been forced to use a little artifice and you can only understand me right now." A small smirk finds its way on his face and his eyes twinkled.

Morgan was still completely spent but she couldn't find any trace of malice in his blue eyes. "My name is Morgan Uther Pendragon." She couldn't explain why she had given her full name to a stranger but she feels it was…required?

The name was charged with power and profound signification, he could sense it. In her eyes, he could read her youngness and something that was not of Arda. It was subtle and non familiar but no evil could be perceived in her vulnerable state. "I don't know what happen to you yet my Lady, but you are still feeling its effects. There is no danger for you now. Sleep and take rest. The light of tomorrow will certainly deliver answers for the two of us."

"Thank you Gandalf. I am in your debt. I…know your name, I think. I…will sleep. Good…night. "Exhausted by her ordeal and feeling safe, Morgan slipped in a dreamless slumber.

Well, she was a Lady of noble quality. He had sense her seriousness when she acknowledged her debt to him. Such a trait was found primarily with the male side of the race of Men. Few women could recognize and willingly accept such a burden. In fact, he has seen it only within the blood of Numenor. And yet, he was almost sure that she was not of the Dùnadan. Nonetheless, she was a mystery that he will have great pleasure to resolve, even with the long-expected party of his friend Bilbo. What…?

Gandalf slowly approached the sleeping form. No, he was not mistaken. Under the gentle light of the stars, the young girl was irradiating a fickle white-silvery aura. It was not the golden inner light of a Noldorin elf but something that looks like the Flame of Anor, the most powerful weapon against the Shadow.


	4. how to make friends

**TOLKIENIST AGAINST MARY-SUE**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Morgan and Vicky.

Note: Well, it's time for Morgan to face the music. This is a rather soft chapter where a modern girl discovers Hobbiton and the famous Bilbo.

**Chap 3: HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS.**

The most glorious sun was up to awake his guest. Sadly, Morgan was not much fan of having a multi-megawatt spot in the face and complained loudly as she draw the blanket on her head and tried to find a better position on her pillow of plants. Wait a minute. Blanket? Plants? The young girl abruptly sat down to take her surrounding in regard.

"Oh my God! Where I am?" She squinted as she didn't have her glasses. The memories of the last night rushed back and everything she could distinct was a confirmation that she has not dreamed. She was still clothed in her school uniform on a woollen grey cloak with a rough blanket. To her right, the dying remains of a fire camp and to her left her leather backpack. With a smile she found her glasses right on top of it.

At last, she was no longer in the fog. She was in the shadow of a forest with a gentle brook nearby singing. She could also see a path in the hills and a chestnut horse alongside a cart. But everything was secondary to him.

He was a grandfatherly man clothed in dark slate robes. He was smoking a clay pipe and a wood-staff was resting at his side with a blue pointed hat on it. His large leather belt supported a European style longsword. He was also smirking at her as he used the embers of the fire to prepare a tasty breakfast of sausages and mushrooms in a large pan.

"Good morning, young Lady. I trusted that the night was restful for you?" Gandalf was happy. He had a few answers to his numerous questions. The curious device seemed to be a rather ingenious system in order to compensate a poor sight. It was like the magnifying glasses of a scholar but much more practical.

Morgan smiled. The 'artifice' used by this kind gentleman was still in effect. She could make the different sounds of the language used as something translated them for her in perfect English. It was disturbing because nothing that she knows could do such a thing but it enabled her to communicate and that was good. "Good morning, Sir. I am very well, thank you."

"Ha! Now that a nice sight for an old bone. But please my Lady. Call me Gandalf. You make me too old by calling me Sir." Good, good. She is much better than last night. It was a remarkable demonstration of advanced recovery here.

"As you wish Gandalf but only if you call me Morgan in return."

"Certainly, certainly, my dear Morgan. And now are you hungry enough to partake an old man's breakfast?"

"With pleasure."

The grey wizard and the school-student faced together as they decimated the sausages. Each of them was slowly appraising the other. Morgan was now sure that she was nowhere near anything of her knowledge. She was either in the past or in a heroic-fantasy type of dimension. Both possibilities were not good for her. She was also sure that she knew who really Gandalf was but each time she tried to remember, a rather nasty headache formed.

As for Gandalf, he was firmly sure that she was not of Arda. Her rather special arrival and the aura showed during the night. Everything pointed the work of the Valar behind the appearance of this girl. Now the question was why she was here.

"I think it will be best that you begin your tale at the very beginning. Take your time and do not worry about details, I will simply ask you to clarify. I give you my word that I will help you to the best of my capacity, my Lady."

The dark haired girl remained thoughtful a few seconds then plunged her deep black eyes into the piercing blue gaze. "Thank you Gandalf. I give you my word that I will be truthful and that I shall endeavour myself to repay you."

The two finished their repast and finally make them comfortable as the old wizard prepared his pipe and Morgan indulged herself a nice cup of herbal tea. She couldn't identify the plants but it was a nice blend even without sugar.

She mentally reviewed what to say about her and how to say it. It will be difficult to explain some aspect of her culture to a member of a culture less mechanized but she liked challenges like this.

"My full name is Morgan Uther Pendragon. I was born the only daughter in what is called an old blood family. Our kingdom England is governed by a parliamentary monarchy: The royal family is the figurehead but the legal and judicial power is in the hand of the people by a voting system. My family is part of the nobility around the royal family with origins that seemed to go back a very long time ago. We haven't been able to confirm or infirm our family legends. I am a sixteen years old student in a school. The education system prepared ourselves to a variety of works by teaching a common base then we take specialties as befit our strengths and weaknesses. Money and social status also determine what is available to us. My personal strength is languages. I live in a very big city called London with my mother. My father died six years ago from a feeble heart."

"I am sorry to hear this. My condolences."

"Thank you… I miss him… Mother has never been the same after that. They were so much in love… Anyway we were in the middle of summer when I notice what seems to be a physical problem with me. There was a curious sensation like a cramp that begun at my toes and progressed along my body in a few days. Nothing that I know could have produced this. I was working in a park with some of my schoolmates when the sensation overwhelmed me. All I could feel was my body. The most curious was that my mind had never been clearer as the same time. I could feel like a white flame in my head. At that moment…I think I heard a voice calling me from a very long distance in my mind."

"Did you recognize the voice?"

"No. It was a genderless and powerful voice because it caused me to rush outside to a clump of trees in the park."

"Did your comrades noticed your state and take actions?"

"No. That was weird… I couldn't even show my distress to them. At that time, I'm sure something took control of me and makes me gone outside. Then, in the clump of tree, all my senses overloaded and suddenly I was suffocating. I think I loose consciousness at that time because the next memory is the starry night sky last night."

Morgan sighed and turned her troubled gaze on Gandalf. "Tell me the truth Gandalf. I'm no longer in my world, right?"

Now Gandalf was impressed. The girl…No, the young woman has put her finger on exactly the crucible of the matter. "I'm afraid you are correct, Morgan."

He winced as she slumped, distress visible in her eyes. "Now, now. Do not worry as much. I have promised you my help and by the Valar, I will help you. The simple fact that you are here is proof that the possibility of return exist. Do not fall into despair so fast."

She managed to put a little smile with shining eyes. "Thank you. Now, I believe it is your turn, Master Wizard. Why don't you begin by telling me a little of yourself and about where I am now?"

Gandalf chuckled. "Certainly, my dear. As you know my name is Gandalf the Grey although I am know by many names in others realms. I am a Wizard. That is I have a few tricks up my sleeve." She grinned at that. A few tricks, really.

"I am an old wanderer incapable to stay in place as I help those in need or gathering favours for my friends. You are currently in the Ëa of Arda, in the region of Eriador, in the country known as the Shire near the town of Hobbiton. Most of the realms in Arda are under a royal rule. There is a nobility whose duty is to help the royal lines in theirs duties to their people. I am part of an order whose task is to oppose the Shadow, the Dark Lord, the Enemy through counsel and aid to others. Most of the folk in any realms are simple: farmers and craftsmen are the bulk of the population. The nobles rule and the men-at arms protect. There are many differences by cultures or races…"

"Races?"

"Yes. Many races along the race of Man crossed the ground. The race of Man is the most numerous. It is their time. The time of the first-born, the Eldar or Elves is about to end and most of them go to the grey-havens in order to cross the sea to Valinor."

"Elves? You had elves in this world? In my world they are a mythical race, only a legend about a wise fair race with limitless life, amazing archery skill and great magic."

He smirked. "An accurate description. Your legends are more truthful than what you think. Along with the Elves, we have the Dwarves…Oh! I can see on your face that there are also legends about them in your world."

Morgan was troubled. "Yes. Great miners and craftsmen. Short but stout and hardy, deadly to their enemies with an axe and a rock anchor for their few friends."

"Well, it seems that you are more prepared to deal with your involuntary sojourn with us."

"Do not mock me, wizard. Written knowledge is hardly good enough to live in another culture. It creates dangerous preconceptions."

"Correct, but it is a very good foundation to built upon it. Now, after the Dwarves, we had the last race of the Free Peoples of Arda: the Hobbits."

Morgan winced as a lance of pain thrust in her brain at the evocation of the last race. "I'm afraid, I'm not familiar with this term…and yet."

"And yet?"

"I don't know. It's as if as I knew of them but each time I tried to remember where I heard it, I gain a headache." She massaged her temples to ride off the pain.

Gandalf was interested. There was a possibility that she was suffering a partial loss of memory from her rather abrupt arrival. "Perhaps have you heard of the other name of their race at large? They are known as Halflings in other parts of Arda."

"Halflings? Little people, enormous appetite and a great nimbleness? And if I remember well they go shoeless and have rather hairy feet."

"Well, I'm impressed. Your world's legends seemed to be very close to the truth. Perhaps have you simply travelled back in time."

Now Morgan was worried. "Which is the much scary of all the possibilities… I could create a paradox or endanger the future by my mere presence."

Gandalf drew on his pipe. "No, I don't think so. Last night as I examined you…" She blushed.

"…I was sure from what I sense in your eyes that you were not of Arda." The tone of the wizard was serious and curiously lifted a weight from the heart of Morgan. The quiet authority behind the words of Gandalf spoke volumes.

"Also, I witnessed your arrival." Now that was interesting.

"I was riding my cart on the road when a sudden gale manifested. You quite simply appeared on the ground unconscious and that was all. No warning and no mysterious voice."

"And now that I am here, what will I do?" The future did not seem good to Morgan. She was reasonably sure that she can survive now with the help of the kind wizard but how and what prices will she have to pay later.

Gandalf grinned. "On that point my dear girl. The Valar watched over you. I am here in the Shire because of the preparations of the anniversary party of one of my dear friend. He is considered an eccentric among his race but he is the most helpful one to put a good first step on the path of your return."

He rose and considered her sternly. "However, I must stress now that the correct handling of your situation will very likely take time. Years at the very least."

"Years?" Morgan was dismayed. What will happen in her world during this time? How her mother will take the news of the disappearance of her only daughter. She was perhaps the only thing that makes her stay in the living world, and what about her? How will she live at long term in another culture?

"There are things that you can't control and there are some that you can learn to control." He put her hands on her shoulders and looked in her eyes. "Even the longest road begins with one step. Will you take it?"

She gazed into the wise blue eyes. There were no lies in them. She nodded gulping down her apprehension.

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The rising sun found the Wizard and the young girl on the road to Hobbiton. They were riding the cart of the Grey Pilgrim and were devising joyfully about everything and nothing. Morgan was explaining in much more details her original world. Gandalf was giving her a lesson on the local geography.

He found in her someone eager to learn for the simple pleasure to learn. It was a refreshing attitude for the Wizard who had been repeatedly called too damned enigmatic. The young girl seemed to take this as a challenge. "True knowledge is between the lines of a book." Now that was the right attitude for a scholar.

Gandalf sung along the way: Beautiful songs that Morgan longed to hear in the original language. When she asked how should she comport herself with the Hobbits, the Wizard laughed and told her to only be herself, it would be largely sufficient.

As the village begun to appear Gandalf was still singing. "Down from the door where it began, now far ahead the road as gone and I must follow if I can..."

A young Hobbit with black hair and blue eyes stood up as he heard the song and took a pipe out of his mouth as he did so. He looked across the woods, his face broking into a sudden smile and he ran off in the direction of the song.

"The Road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began, now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow if I can."

The young hobbit came to the side of the path on which Gandalf's cart is travelling. He folded his arms and looked to…well what a surprise, Gandalf has acquired a companion, a female companion at that. "You're late."

Gandalf stopped his cart and looked sternly to the hobbit. "A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to."

Morgan blinked as the two of them looked at each other for a moment as though trying to keep a straight face. Then, as Gandalf's mouth began to twitch, their faces both broke into sudden smiles and they laughed richly. Frodo jumped onto Gandalf's lap, arms outstretched.

"It's wonderful to see you, Gandalf!"

He caught him, embracing him as he did so, swaying from side to side with Frodo in his arms, laughing once again. They broke apart, and Gandalf looked at Frodo. "You didn't think I'd miss your uncle Bilbo's birthday?" He touched Frodo's face affectionately, and laughed.

"What news of the outside world? Tell me everything!"

"Everything? You're far too eager and curious for a Hobbit. Most unnatural... Well, what can I tell you? Life in the wide world goes on, much as it has this past Age. Full of its own comes and goings. Scarcely aware of the existence of Hobbits. For which I am very thankful." He stopped. "But I am forgetting my manners. Morgan, allow me to present you Frodo Baggins of the Shire, a cousin of Bilbo Baggins. Frodo, allow me to present you Lady Morgan Uther Pendragon of England."

"It is a pleasure and an honour to meet you, my Lady."

Morgan smiled to Frodo then turned to Gandalf. "Tell him, I am deeply honoured to meet him and give him my apologies to not being able to do it myself." She wished to be able to talk to the rather handsome Hobbit. Another annoying thing was the intense headache she had since seeing him.

"You'll have to excuse her Frodo. She came from a very far realm and she is not proficient in Westron. She is very honoured to do your acquaintance and regret to not be able to salute you properly."

Frodo waved away the concerns of the two travellers. He was sufficiently excited by the arrival of the Wizard to be concerned by the presence of this Lady. She was a very beautiful Lady for a big person. Frodo remarked that the young girl was clad in a familiar too large woollen grey cloak and he caught the glimpse of foreign attires under it. The strangest thing was the curious device on her face.

The cart passed through a crowded marketplace where Hobbits could be seen going about their daily tasks, leading pigs and goats, exchanging goods, or just eating. One of the Hobbit waved to the little group. "Look! It's Gandalf!" Gandalf tipped his hat in return.

The cart moved out of the marketplace, and on, to the top of a slope where they were given a magnificent view of a more quiet part of the Shire which is lush and green. Morgan could see several smials or hobbit-holes according to Gandalf beneath the hills. It was really a beautiful and peaceful country.

Gandalf pointed to a large grass field. "Ooh… The long expected party."

They could see a group of thirty or so hobbits working on party preparations. Ten or so tried to keep a tent up, while others carried tables and chairs. Another group was adorning a tree with decorations.

"Hold it!"

The Hobbits were also putting up a banner saying 'Happy Birthday Bilbo Baggins'. As it was raised, the Hobbits cheered and they clapped and cheered more loudly when it stayed up.

"Yeah, Bilbo, yay, up we go..."

The cart with the trio continued on, on what seemed to be a grassy path through the woods.

"So how is the old rascal? I hear it's going to be a party of special magnificence!"

"You know Bilbo. He's got the whole place in an uproar."

"Now, well, that should please him."

"Half the Shire's been invited along with our friends dwarves!"

"Good gracious me!"

"He's up to something."

"Hmm..."

Frodo smirked to Gandalf. "All right then, keep your secrets."

The cart passed a hobbit-hole with a chimney breathing white clouds of smoke and a line of clothing hung on its roof. Two Hobbits stood by the gate, talking. Morgan waved to them as the cart passed by.

"Before you came along, we Bagginses were very well thought of."

"Indeed."

"Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected."

"If you're referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved." Gandalf looked at Frodo and he looked back doubtfully. In the back of the cart, Morgan mouthed 'a dragon' as her eyes widened. She could only follow half of the conversation but she found the Westron language interesting and beautiful. She was eager to learn it.

"All I did was give your uncle a little nudge out of the door."

Frodo laughed. "Whatever you did, you've been officially labelled a disturber of the peace."

Gandalf muttered. "Oh, really?"

A hobbit by a house with the name of 'Proudfoot' saw Gandalf while sweeping the front of his house and eyed him and the girl rather sourly. Hobbit children ran through the fields and followed the cart.

"Gandalf! Gandalf's here! GanDALF!"

The Hobbit kids climbed a fence and ran past the gate at which the Proudfoot hobbit and his wife were standing. The Proudfoot hobbit mouthed something then closed his mouth as though pained. Soon, the Hobbit children were coming to the road that the cart was on and stood on one fork of it.

"Fireworks, Gandalf... Gandalf! Fireworks, Gandalf..."

But Gandalf took the other fork.

"Ohhhh..."

Gandalf smiled then thumped his staff to the back of the cart. Some fireworks fired out of the back of the wagon. Morgan squealed in fright at the unexpected demonstration. The Hobbit children jumped up and down and cheered. Frodo smiled to himself then looked at Gandalf rather amused.

Gandalf laughed and winked to a pouting Morgan. "Oooh...Oooh..."

The Proudfoot hobbit laughed and as he did so, his wife walked towards him, hands on her hips, given him a rather quelling look. His smile vanished and he adopted a grumpy expression.

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The cart came to the woods and slowed down. Frodo held onto one of the posts of the wagon as he turned to the Wizard. "Gandalf. I'm glad you're back."

"So am I, dear boy." Frodo jumped off the wagon, saluted Morgan and waved as he leaved.

The young Hobbit muttered to himself. "So am I."

Frodo ran off into the fields and Gandalf and his charge continued on to Bag End. As he stopped his cart in front of it, Gandalf looked at the hobbit-hole and sighed in satisfaction. Now, he can really help the young Lady. Signalling to Morgan to follow, he opened the gate which read 'No admittance except on party business' then continued on to the front door which he knocked on with his staff.

A voice came from the inside. "No, thank you! We don't want any more visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations!"

Gandalf smiled at that and said. "And what about very old friends?"

An old and well-clothed Hobbit opened his front door. "Gandalf?"

"Bilbo Baggins." The Wizard Held his hands out to Bilbo.

"My dear Gandalf!" He walked towards the tall Istari who knelt down and embraced him.

"Good to see you. One hundred and eleven years old. Who would believe it? He looked at Bilbo. "You haven't aged a day." They both laughed.

Bilbo then remarked the shy black-haired young girl who was waiting near the cart. "Gandalf! You brought a charming person and you neglect to present us. The shame, the shame my old friend!"

Gandalf smirked and signalled to the schoolgirl to come. "Bilbo, I present to you the Lady Morgan Uther Pendragon of the city of London. Morgan, this is my dear friend Bilbo Baggins, master of Bag End."

Morgan smiled and curtsied. Gandalf smiled and turned to Bilbo. "I'm afraid that I am to speak in her name. Lady Morgan is hailing from a very far realm and she is not versed in Westron or any language nearby."

"Oh! Dear me, dear me! This is atrocious. We have to help her Gandalf!"

"Why do you think I take her to you?"

Bilbo blushed under the implied compliment then offered his arm to Morgan. "Come on, come in! Welcome, welcome." He closed the door and muttered. "Oh, here we are."

He took Gandalf's staff and hat and helped Morgan out of her cloak. He absently remarked the foreign cut of her clothes. "Tea my dear? And maybe something a little stronger for you Gandalf. I've got a few of bottles of the old Winyard left. 1296. Very good year. Almost as old as I am. Ha ha ha ha ha. It was laid down by my father. What's say we open one, eh?"

"Just tea, thank you." Gandalf hit his head on one of the lights. Then, as he put it straight, he hit his head on the ceiling. "Ohh..." Morgan snickered behind her hands. For once her medium height was an advantage.

Bilbo muttered in the background. "I was expecting you sometime last week. Not that it matters since there is two months to go. You come and go as you please. Always have done and always will. You caught me a bit unprepared, I'm afraid. But I'll make sure Lady Morgan is taken for. We've only got some cold chicken and a bit of pickle... There's some cheese. Oh no, that won't do. We've got raspberry jam, an apple tart... But not much for afters. Oh, no, we're all right. I've just found some sponge cake."

As Gandalf looked at some maps on the table, Morgan discovered with interest the many books in the smial. Her dark eyes blazed with glee before the written treasure.

"I can make you some eggs if you li…" He advised the admiring young girl…alone in the room. "Ganda… Gandalf?"

Gandalf reappeared suddenly from another room. "Just tea, thank you."

"Oh, right." Bilbo stuffed some cake in his mouth, and mumbled. "You don't mind if I eat, do you?"

"No, not at all."

"Well, here is the tea. Come on my Lady. Try a cake, there're delicious." The language of food and gestures are universals. Morgan bowed to the Hobbit and daintily nibbled on the sweet confections. The tea was heavenly.

On the outside, a female Hobbit suddenly banged on the door. "Bilbo! Bilbo Baggins!"

Bilbo hid himself out of the window and whispered to his guests. "I'm not at home! I've got to get away from these confounded relatives, hanging on the bell all day, never giving me a moment's peace. I want to see mountains again, mountains, Gandalf. And then find somewhere quiet where I can finish my book..."

"So you mean to go through with your plan, then?"

"Yes, yes, it's all in hand. All the arrangements are made. Don't worry for your charge, there will be something done."

"Oh, I'm not worried." He turned to Morgan. "I have found you a tutor for my two months leave of you."

The displaced girl smiled. "Two months? In total immersion with these gentle folks? This is great. I'm sure to have progressed nicely for your return." She then turned to Bilbo. "Could you ask him if I am not a heavy charge for him? Obviously he had some pressing matters."

Bilbo waved away her concerns after translation. "No worry my dear. You will even do god for an old geezer like me. Having such an eager student will change me from those who don't want to learn." He then got the tea and Gandalf took the lid off for him.

"Oh, thank you."

"Frodo suspects something."

"'Course he does. He's a Baggins! Not some blockheaded Bracegirdle from Hardbottle."

"You will tell him, won't you?"

"Yes, yes."

"He's very fond of you."

"I know. He'd probably come with me if I asked him. I think in his heart, Frodo's still in love with the Shire. The woods, the fields. Little rivers. I'm old, Gandalf. I know I don't look it, but I'm beginning to feel it in my heart. I feel thin. Sort of stretched, like butter, scraped over too much bread. I need a holiday. A very long holiday. And I don't expect I shall return. In fact, I mean not to."

As the kind Hobbit spilled his heart out, the headache of Morgan amplified. She was worried by the intensity and the frequency of those headaches. She thought it was an important fact but she couldn't put her finger on it.

Well, at least the Wizard seemed to have found a very nice and pleasant teacher for her. She grinned as she thought of her future lessons with the master of Bag End and she knew that if she was accepted by the Hobbits, she will be accepted everywhere.


	5. Concerning Hobbits & Lost Big Folk Girls

**TOLKIENIST AGAINST MARY-SUE**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Morgan and Vicky.

Notes: I have just lost all my precious information about the differences between the film and the books of the Lord of the Rings due to a nasty virus in my main computer.

Please, be gentle to email me any errors I have done, thank you.

**Chap 4:**** Concerning Hobbits and Lost Big Folk Girls.**

Slowly, Morgan wrote in her notebook. Since her arrival in this new world, she had begun a diary in order to have a trace of her fantastic adventure. The young black-haired girl still didn't know if she was in the long time passed past of her own world or in another dimension. In either case, there was nothing she could do for now except adapt and learn.

It had been now almost two months that the wizard Gandalf had left her in the care of Bilbo Baggins and her progress in Westron, the common tongue of this world, was enough to properly write, at least at the level of a beginner student.

And so, she was leaning on a desk, using a feather to write, in the smial of Bag End, in the hill of Bagshot Row, in the town of Hobbiton, in the Westfarthing of the Shire and in Middle-Earth. She was writing in Westron because she felt it was required that her diary should be written in this tongue now that she could make her understood in this tongue.

She had changed a little from the lost English girl clad in her school uniform. Numerous and consequents amount of food had put a little meat on her bones and the generosity of her host had clothed her in a simple dark green dress with loose sleeves and a white sash. The wealth of Bilbo had also provided her with "everything a lady like you should have" as he said. She had tried to refuse, but Bilbo had used at his advantage her non-mastery of the Westron and she had been obliged to accept the gifts.

She smiled as she looked around her. At her arrival, the interior of the smial had been a real mess. Since only Bilbo and his nephew Frodo lived in the house, organization wasn't a priority. She had stubbornly taken on herself to put a little order in this chaos, despite the protestations of Bilbo. And now, the interior was properly set, with the little touch of a woman here and there, mainly in the form of better light from the windows and a few flowers.

Morgan was especially proud to have helped to arrange and classify the library of the old Hobbit. Although her vocabulary wasn't up to some texts, she was now reading all she could find and understand. Upon her impulsion, she had also asked and received a few lessons in Elvish. There had been only one incident when Bilbo lost his calm and almost screamed at her because he couldn't find something.

This incident had also been the day she felt her worst headache since her arrival in Middle-Earth. She had suffered mild headaches the first time she met someone that was close to Bilbo or Frodo, but this time, she fell on one knee because of the pain when the old hobbit suddenly calmed himself and said he had found what he searched on his own pocket.

She never found what was hidden in his pocket, and in fact, she never tried to pry into the privacy of her host. It had been a mystery that was resolved by Frodo when he spoke about the old magical ring that his uncle used during his adventure with Gollum.

Among the collection of Bilbo, there was only one book she didn't open because it was unfinished: It was the book that Bilbo was writing about his travels and adventures in the Lonely Mountain and his encounter with the last dragon Smaug. She remembered the half-understood conversation between Gandalf and Frodo two months ago about a dragon. She had laughed herself to tears when the old hobbit had told her what exactly Gandalf meant by "a little nudge out of the door". The title always drew a smile from her: "There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale."

She didn't read it, but she sure heard it. The story was a favourite of almost all the young hobbits and Bilbo always loved to spread his tale. In fact, Morgan also loved the way Bilbo entertained his listeners with his adventures.

Tales were also the method she had used to finally break the reserve that all the hobbits had for her when she had enough vocabulary to share the tales of her childhood. In the beginning, the fact that she was human and incapable to communicate had proved to be big obstacles. It was only she had always persevered that she managed to establish a friendly rapport with the community.

In fact, it didn't take long for her to fall in love with the Shire and its inhabitants. Hobbits were primarily farmers and had lived in the four Farthings of the country for many centuries. The average hobbit was quite content to ignore and be ignored by what they called the world of the Big Folk. It was the main reason she was perceived, at first, as a perturbing element.

There was a certain isolationism in the Halfling culture because to their eyes, Middle-Earth was so full of strange creatures that Hobbits must seem of little importance since they weren't warriors or wises.

Of course, some elements of the Hobbit society were always suspicious of the black-eyed girl, especially since she seemed to be from a country they never heard about. The worse were the Sackville-Bagginses that simply accused her to be after the wealth of Bilbo: Wealth that was naturally only for them alone.

After the first incident, she had demonstrated how sharp her wits could be by showing an icy politeness more insulting than any complex sentences she could have used with her limited vocabulary.

With time she had verified that the stereotype of the Hobbit's passion for food, ales and pipe-weed was very, very real. Not that she was opposed to a good meal, a fresh mug of ale and the sweet scent of pipe-smoke, but six meals a day… It was sometimes a little too much for a girl who watched her weight and take care of her health.

Once again, she gazed through the window and smiled at the activities of the hobbits who truly loved peace and quiet and good, tilled earth. In fact, she shared with them their love of things that grow. There was nothing more gratifying than eating the very things you grew yourself. Yes, for the city girl, it was no bad thing to celebrate a simple life far away from the so-called modern world.

She had feared that she would feel alone and homesick since the departure of Gandalf, but friendship had lighted and protected her heart from the darkness of despair. Her love of books and knowledge had enabled her to strike a deep friendship with Bilbo and Frodo. She had met and befriended Samwise Gamgee over the products and care of the garden since she refused to be a freeloader.

However, her friendship with Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck began in the strangest way: By a prank.

She was doing her morning chores with Sam and entered Bag End for refreshing herself when she found herself douched by cold water. The two pranksters laugh was short when they remarked that they didn't nail Frodo like they wanted, but a now wet, tall, for them, girl with long black hair and furious black eyes.

This day, the population of Hobbiton had been the witness that Merry and Pippin could run very fast, especially when they are pursued by an angered Big Folk girl who was using a previously unknown ability to utter curses and yell dire promises of painful retribution to the two young hobbits.

It was only after a thorough dunking in a cold shallow river and a conversation under blankets and with a nice cup of tea in front of the fireplace of Bag End that the three persons became unlikely friends.

Oh, Morgan didn't join them in their pranks, but the two very active hobbits showed her the Shire in its entire wilderness and taught her a few things that a proper Lady shouldn't know.

And so, Morgan Uther Pendragon lived and learned with Bilbo and Frodo Baggins.

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As the final day for the Party approached, Bilbo asked a big favour from Morgan. She eagerly accepted because she didn't consider guarding the poor Bilbo from enthusiastic well-wishers a chore.

So Morgan was dutifully sitting near the gate of Bag End, reading a book, when she heard the sound of a horse's hooves on the dirt path nearby. She beamed when she recognized the cart of Gandalf the Grey.

The old wizard dismounted and went directly to her. He spoke in Westron without the use of his power to make her understand and with a tinge of humour in his deep voice. "Good day to you, Lady Morgan."

The teenager stood up and curtsied back. "And a good day to you, Master Wizard."

He chuckled. "Good, good. I can see that those two months hadn't been lost." Indeed, to his wise eyes, hardly lost. He had left a confused and worried young girl and returned to find a strong young woman sure of herself and looked more like a Lady of the West than a complete stranger. The power she had sensed in her seemed to vibrate more than before.

She raised an eyebrow, but her smile betrayed her sheer pleasure as she demonstrated her mastery of Westron. "With Bilbo Baggins as a teacher? Shame on you, Gandalf. I couldn't have dream of anyone better."

The wizard smiled and made his way up to the front door and knocked on the painted surface with his staff. He had now plenty of time for resolving the enigma that was Morgan Uther Pendragon of London, England. In fact, he had already prepared a schedule for her after the Party of Bilbo.

Morgan giggled when she heard Bilbo's exasperation from inside. He refused to open the door unless his visitor was important and again, not always. "Confound it all, Morgan, I thought I asked you to keep them away!"

Morgan controlled barely her laugh. "Well, this one is a bit difficult. I doubt that a young girl could frighten him away."

"Well, tell him we don't want anymore well-wishers, gift-givers, Party-helpers, or distant relations today!"

Gandalf had a strange impression of déja vu at this particular sentence. He shook his head and his booming voice sounded. "I am none of those, Bilbo Baggins, so you had better open this door, and quickly!"

Bilbo bustled quickly from behind the door. "Gandalf!"

The wizard knelt before Bilbo and embraced him like a father holding his infant son. "Dear old Bilbo."

Bilbo stepped away first with suspicious shining eyes. "Gandalf, how good to see you! It's been far too long, we haven't had a chance to really talk… you only stayed for a short time on your last visit… do come in, come in!"

Morgan let the two friends entered the smial. She decided against imposing her presence. Something was telling her that they needed to speak to each other alone. She stopped before returning to her vigil. "This is it!"

She didn't have any hint about what was going to happen, but something whispered to her that it was beginning now. She groaned as she massaged her temples: Another massive headache.

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As the evening came, Morgan had entered Bag End with Frodo in order to get ready for the Party. Meanwhile, Gandalf and Bilbo were outside, smoking a last pipe together.

Morgan smiled as she gazed on the dress that Bilbo had made for her. It was built on the same model as a festive Hobbit dress but was coloured in a diaphanous light grey that highlighted her pale skin and her black hair and eyes. She took a pair of sandals to complete it as jewellery seemed unimportant. In her mirror, she admired her silhouette: She really looked like a Lady, the only false note was perhaps her glasses, but after trying to leave them for the party, she concluded that her nearsightness was too much of a handicap for the little amelioration to her image.

The young girl hid a giggle as she exited the house and observed Bilbo and Gandalf sitting outside Bag End together and smoking. It was a bittersweet memory of her late father: She remembered sitting in his lap as he smoked the pipe and reading a book while the sweet smoke surrounded her. She quickly banished the memory before it brought back also the image of her mother.

Bilbo smiled as he put away a small leather bag. "Old Toby. The finest weed in the Southfarthing." The Old hobbit blew then a perfect smoke ring which floated away in the night air. Gandalf chuckled and the under the awed gaze of Morgan blew a ship of smoke through the smoke ring.

The English girl shook her head. "Incredible…"

The two friends turned and smiled to her. Bilbo nodded admirably at the beautiful young teenager in the grey dress. "Go along, my dear. No reason for you to wait for two old fools like us. Come on! Come on! Go and be merry!"

Gandalf nodded. "Do not wait for us, Lady Morgan. We'll just finish this and be right behind you. And may I say that you like radiant tonight."

Morgan blushed and rushed to the Party to hide her embarrassment under the gentle chuckles of her host and the Wizard.

Bilbo sighed as he watched his guest trotting to the feast. "I'm going to miss her presence. But it is better for her to seek other teachers than an old geezer like me. She's a rare and precious pearl and other scholars must simply meet her." His gaze became mischievous. "Gandalf, my old friend. This will be a night to remember."

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This night, Morgan discovered why Gandalf was so renowned for his fireworks. The use of Magic, at least she thought it was magic, made her fireworks the best she had ever seen. Even modern technology couldn't beat what he made his rockets do.

A firework went off and a majestic green tree was drawn in the sky, sparks rained on the entire party. Under the festive lamps, music sounded, everyone cheered and Hobbits danced.

Yes, Hobbits were dancing although many others were decimating the gigantic amount of food and drink on the tables. A giant cake with 144 candles was slowly making its way among the merry people. 144, because Bilbo was celebrating his 111 anniversary and Frodo his 33 anniversary: Both were important celebrations among the Hobbits.

Frodo was dancing with Morgan among the laughing and teasing, especially since Morgan was much taller than the young hobbit, but the two friends merely laughed along with the partiers. Near the dance circle, Samwise Gamgee was stealing gazes to the young Rosie, a beautiful hobbit with curly blonde hair in a blue dress. The shy hobbit didn't dare to do anything else.

Bilbo was, of course, playing his role of host and main feature of the party and was shaking hands with some guests. "Hello, hello. Fatty Bolger. Lovely to see you. Welcome, welcome!"

Still laughing, Frodo and Morgan sat near Sam in order to rest a little before the next dance.

Frodo smiled to the redheaded Hobbit. "Go on, Sam, ask Rosie for a dance!"

Morgan nodded approvingly. "Yes! Ask her! Look, she's dancing alone!"

Sam hesitated and began to rise. "I think I'll just have another ale."

Frodo and Morgan exchanged a look and seized their friend together. "Oh, no you don't!" Under their pushing, the poor Sam was sent towards Rosie who seized his hands. "Go on!"

As the couple danced, Frodo and Morgan laughed, happy for Sam and Rosie.

Using his staff, Gandalf let off another rocket which exploded into a bright blue firework that opened out over the entire party site.

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Bilbo was sitting on a low bench and telling a group of young Hobbit children a story that happened during his adventures with the Dwarves and Gandalf. "So there I was, at the mercy of three monstrous trolls. And they were all arguing amongst themselves about how they were going to cook us. Whether it be turned on a spit, or whether they should sit on us one by one, squash us, to jelly."

His attentive listeners gasped at the predicament. Nearby, Gandalf had taken a pause and was dancing with Morgan, probably the only other person that could dance almost normally with him. It was amusing to see that Morgan was smaller than the Grey Wizard like her and Frodo lately.

Bilbo continued his story. "And they spent so much time arguing, the whitertos and the whyfors that the sun's first light crept over the top of the trees –poof-" The Hobbit kids gasped again. "And turned them all to stone!"

Smiling and laughing, Gandalf took out some of his fireworks from his cart near a tent. As he leaved, Merry and Pippin came out from behind the tent.

Pippin turned to Merry and whispered. "Quickly!"

Merry gave Pippin a leg up onto the cart and turned to survey what Gandalf was doing. The old wizard was letting off some butterfly fireworks for the young Hobbit children. "Oh! Up they go!" He laughed: Those smiles and happiness were the reason why he was doing all this.

Pippin took out a rocket and showed it to Merry. Merry shook his head and pointed to another. "No, no, the big one, big one."

Pippin nodded and took out a red dragon shaped one. Merry looked at it in mischievous wonder, as Pippin jumped off the wagon, and into a surrounding tent. Merry bit into an apple then followed him.

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Bilbo was saluting a brown-haired woman with a little girl in her arms. "Mrs. Bracegirdle, how nice to see you. Welcome, welcome." Bilbo blinked as a veritable army of Hobbits children passed around him. "Are all these children yours?" The matron nodded. "Good gracious, you have been productive. The woman rolled her eyes, nodded and followed her children.

The ear of Bilbo twitched as an unwelcome feminine voice reached him. "Bilbo?" He whirled in fright and butted in with Morgan and Frodo that were coming to see him. He hissed to them in dread. "Sackville-Bagginses!"

Frodo frowned and began to push his uncle among the tables and tents. "Quickly, hide!"

The couple of old grumpy Hobbits cut and pushed among the crowd, searching for their prey. Morgan lost all her smile and used her height and some nearby tent to hide Frodo and Bilbo. She waited for the Sackville-Bagginses to come near her before opening fire.

"Mr. and Mrs. Baggins. Good evening. I trust that you…appreciate the party of Bilbo." Said with an exquisite but icy politeness, the words were as edged as a sword.

Mrs. Baggins showed her teeth as if she had swallowed three dozens of citrus and her husband sported a big scowl. However, to Morgan they were as scary as cockroaches and her black eyes seemed to drill into their cores.

Mr. Baggins attempted to redirect the… discussion. "Have you seen Bilbo anywhere?" He tried to regain his countenance by crossing his arms. "We have some business to discuss with him."

Morgan had a cold smile. "Yes, of course. After all it is HIS party with HIS guests. I saw him last near those tables." She pointed in a direction. "But that was a while ago."

From an exterior point of view there was a remarkable likeness to a pair of very small dogs yapping in vain to a massive and beautiful collie which could sweep them away with one paw but found it beneath its contempt to do it.

"Well, if you see him. Tell him we're looking for him."

Morgan tilted her head and her cold smile became a cold smirk. "Of course, Mrs. Baggins. As soon as I see him. Have a nice night."

Grunting and huffing at the dismissal, the couple continued their search. Morgan muttered under her breath something about arrogant pompous assholes.

Bilbo sighed in relief when they were out of sight. He tapped on the hands of Frodo and Morgan. "Thank you, my boy. And thank you, my dear Lady." He nodded to himself. "You are both good people, very good people." He turned to Frodo. "I'm very selfish, you know." Frodo blinked in confusion. "Yes, I am. Very selfish. I don't know why I took you in after your mother and father died but it wasn't out of charity. I think it was because of all my numerous relations you were the one Baggins that showed real spirit." He turned to the perplexed young girl. "And you, my dear. How wonderful was your simple presence for an old fool like me. Having you around here and teaching you was like having a beautiful and stimulating riddle. Yes, truly wonderful!"

Frodo and Morgan exchanged a confused look and Frodo leaned to his uncle. "Bilbo, have you been at the Gaffer's home brew?"

Morgan nodded. "Yeah. And just how many mugs of ale did you drink tonight?"

Bilbo blinked. "Huh? No and not many… Well, yes and a dozen, but that's not the point. The point is, Frodo…" Bilbo hesitated, on the verge of saying something about his plans for tonight. "…you'll be all right… You'll be both all right." He quickly hid his face in his mug.

Morgan and Frodo exchanged another meaningful gaze and shrugged.

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Meanwhile under a tent, Pippin lit the red firework, while Merry held it steady.

Pippin stood up, smiling. "Done!"

Merry blinked as he remarked now that he was holding a lit explosive rocket. "You're supposed to stick it in the ground." He pushed the firework over to Pippin.

Pippin frowned. "It is in the ground!" He pushed it back to Merry.

Merry cringed and pushed it back again to Pippin. "Outside...!" The two continued to push the lit firework back and forth.

Pippin began to panic. "This was your idea!"

The rocket went off and Merry and Pippin were both thrown to the ground. The cracker let out sparkling fireworks and the Hobbits cheered to the spectacle. Then suddenly, it turned into a fiery red dragon that dived to the crowd. The Hobbits screamed and ran away from it, knocking down tables of food as they did so.

Frodo was walking with his uncle when he saw the apparition. "Bilbo..." He blinked and suddenly realised what he was seeing. "Bilbo, watch out for the dragon!"

Bilbo frowned as Frodo tried to push him under cover. "Dragon? Nonsense, there hasn't been a dragon in these parts for a thousand years!"

Knowing what she was really seeing, Morgan beamed and admired the spectacle. The pseudo-dragon passed overhead the covering crowd and slowly, the Hobbits who had been crouching down, began to lift their heads. The firework-dragon then went off in to the distance and filled the sky with a grandiose final burst of fireworks. The whole crowd cheered in appreciation and Morgan applauded.

Merry and Pippin were admiring their handwork. Both were black from the exhaust of the rocket. Merry nodded. "That was good!"

Pippin was of the same advice. "Let's get another one."

Unfortunately, Morgan had seen the state of the two pranksters, deduced why, shook her head and pointed them to Gandalf who was searching why his red dragon rocket had been set off.

Frowning, the wizard walked behind them and grabbed them by the ears. "Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took." He nodded to himself. "I might've known."

Under the twinkling eyes of no-I'm-not-laughing-nope-nope Morgan, Merry and Pippin were being punished by washing up the entire stash of dirty dishes from the party. Gandalf sat nearby, watching them, drinking tea, and smoking.

The Hobbit crowd began to cheered and clapped for their host. "Speech, Bilbo! Speech!"

Frodo and Morgan joined them. "Speech! Speech!"

Smiling, Bilbo walked up under the festive tree and faced to the front of the crowd. "My dear Bagginses and Boffins!" As their names were pronounced, each Hobbits cheered and applauded. "Tooks and Brandybucks! Grubbs! Chubbs! Hornblowers! Bolgers! Bracegirdles! And Proudfoots!"

The patriarch of the Proudfoot clan corrected Bilbo. "Proudfeet!"

The crowd laughed and Bilbo waved his hand dismissively in the direction of the Proudfoot patriarch. "Today is not only my one hundred and eleventh birthday! It is also the thirty and third birthday of my dear nephew Frodo!"

Many in the crowd yelled. "Happy Birthday!"

Bilbo continued. "Alas. Eleventy one years is far too short a time to live amongst such excellent, and admirable Hobbits. I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

The Hobbits looked at one another, as though they tried to work out if this were a compliment or not. Gandalf eyed him, as though half-amused and Morgan smothered a burst of laugh with her two hands.

Bilbo seemed to lose his happiness. "I er ... I have things to do." He put his hand into his pocket and took out his gold ring. Gandalf frowned and Morgan winced as another painful headache hit her.

Bilbo whispered half to himself and half for the crowd. "I've put this off for far too long." Frodo and Morgan looked worried in his direction. Bilbo spoke aloud again. "I regret to announce this is the end. I'm going now. I bid you all a very fond farewell." He looked directly at Frodo and whispered. "Goodbye."

He put on the ring and vanished. The crowd gasped at the spectacle. Gandalf and Frodo looked troubled and worried. However, it was Morgan who was the most affected.

Seeing, for the first time, the minor power of the One Ring in action, a major headache paralyzed her with very painful shockwaves in her brain. She blanched and was forced to brace herself on a table to avoid falling. An intense and inexplicable terror had seized her heart.

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As the Hobbits on the Party field went wild, Bilbo made his way back to Bag End, still invisible, and took off his ring once he has closed the door behind him. He reappeared and laughed. He flipped the ring into the air then caught it and put it back into his coat pocket.

He hummed as he considered one of the advantages of having Morgan put a little order in his smial: Everything was ready for his departure and was where he wanted it. He picked up his travel-stick and entered the living room where the fireplace was already lit. However he wasn't alone in his house.

Gandalf was standing near the fireplace. "I suppose you think that was terribly clever."

Bilbo gasped at the voice, looked around him and sighed in relief when he saw Gandalf. "Come on Gandalf. Did you see their faces?" He laughed as he grabbed a few candles.

Gandalf shook his head. "There are many magic rings in this world, Bilbo Baggins, and none of them should be used lightly!"

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "It was just a bit of fun..." He sighed as he saw the reprobation in the eyes of Gandalf. "Oh, you're probably right, as usual..." He retrieved his pipe. "You will keep an eye on Frodo, won't you? And you will take great care of Morgan, won't you?"

Gandalf nodded. "Two eyes, as often as I can spare them. And I have already prepared everything for the future of Lady Morgan."

"Speaking of everything, I'm leaving everything to Frodo. Apart for a few books that I know will be in better hands with our dear Morgan."

Gandalf narrowed his eyes. "What about this ring of yours, is that staying too?"

Bilbo sighed impatiently. "Yes, yes. It's in an envelope over there, on the mantelpiece..." Gandalf nodded, went for the place, but stopped as he heard the soft voice of his friend. "No, wait it's…here in my pocket."

He took the ring out and fingered it. "Why…isn't that…? Isn't that odd, now? Yet after all that, why not." He whispered. "Why shouldn't I keep it?"

Gandalf slowly approached him. "I think you should leave the ring behind, Bilbo. Is that so hard?"

"Well no..." A hard light seemed to shine in the old hobbit's eyes. "And yes. Now it comes to it, I don't feel like parting with it. It's mine! I found it! It came to me!"

"There's no need to get angry."

"Well if I'm angry, it's your fault!" He continued to finger the ring. "It's mine. My own. My precious." At that last word, the eyes of Bilbo bulged and his voice took a strange inflexion.

Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "Precious? It's been called that before, but not by you."

Bilbo whirled around and spat. "Oh, what business is it of yours what I do with my own things?!"

Gandalf stayed where he was but didn't lost visual contact. "I think you've had that ring quite long enough."

"You want if for yourself!"

Gandalf rose up and became very angry. "BILBO BAGGINS!" The formidable power of the Istari manifested around him and shadows darkened the room, waves of power made the structure of the smial cracking. Bilbo was pinned to the wall in fear. "DO NOT TAKE ME FOR SOME CONJUROR OF CHEAP TRICKS! I AM NOT TRYING TO ROB YOU!"

Gandalf reined in his power and lights returned to normal again. "I'm trying to help you."

Still under the shock of what had happened and what he was doing, Bilbo rushed into the embrace of the tall wizard. Gandalf knelt down beside Bilbo and placed his hand on his shoulder. "All your long years, we've been friends. Trust me, as you once did, hmm? Let it go."

Bilbo nodded. "You're right, Gandalf. The ring must go to Frodo." Something seemed to occur to him and he seized the shoulder of the wizard. "But Frodo only! You hear me Gandalf? Only to Frodo!" The Istari blinked as a strange light shone in the eyes of his old friend. "You must make sure that Morgan will never touch it!" He went to his travel-pack and prepares to leave. "It's late, the road is long... Yes, it is time..." He walked to the front door and opened it.

The voice of Gandalf stopped him. "Bilbo, the ring is still in your pocket.

Bilbo sheepishly extracted the gold ring from his pocket. "Oh…yes." He put it on the palm of his hand and, after a hard fight with something deep in his soul, turned his hand over, letting it drop. The ring did not bounce as if its weight was much more than what it seemed. Bilbo turned and almost ran out his door. Gandalf followed him, still worried.

Bilbo seemed to catch his breath. "I've thought up an ending for my book." He turned around to look at Gandalf. ""And he lived happily ever after, to the end of his days""

Gandalf leaned to him. "And I'm sure you will, my dear friend."

Bilbo shook hands with Gandalf. "Goodbye Gandalf."

Gandalf winked and smiled to his old friend. "Goodbye, dear Bilbo."

As he walked the path, Bilbo sung. "The road goes ever on and on…"

Gandalf softly whispered to himself. "Until our next meeting."

Gandalf walked back into the house. Frowning, he leaned over the ring and reached out to touch it. But suddenly, the vision of a flaming lidless red eye flashed in his mind. He left the ring on the floor.

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Later, Gandalf pondered, sitting by the fire and smoking. The voice of Bilbo sounded in his mind. '"_It's mine. My own. My precious… Only to Frodo! You must make sure that Morgan will never touch it!_"'

Gandalf narrowed his eyes. "Riddles in the dark... And why specifically Frodo and Morgan…"

Frodo and Morgan's voices sounded in the distance. "Bilbo!" "Master Bilbo!" Frodo opened the door. "Bilbo!" Frodo then remarked the ring on the floor. He leaned over and picked it up. He didn't see behind him the frightened visage of Morgan that stayed very still on the doorstep.

Gandalf continued to smoke and think as if he didn't sense their arrival. "My precious... Precious... Must not touch it…"

Frodo sighed as the ring was the sure sign that his uncle had departed. "He's gone, hasn't he?" He walked to the fireplace. The two males didn't notice Morgan which was quietly retreating to the guest room that Bilbo gave her. "He talked so long about leaving. I didn't think he'd really do it..." He blinked as he remarked that the wizard didn't notice him. "Gandalf?"

This time Gandalf turned around to face Frodo and noticed the ring in the palm of the young hobbit. He smiled. "Bilbo's ring. He's gone to stay with the Elves. He's left you Bag End." He held out an envelope to Frodo who put the ring into it. Gandalf sealed the envelope with a red stamp. "Along with all his possessions. Apart for a few books that he gave to Morgan. The ring is yours now." Gandalf held out the envelope to Frodo who, after a moment's pause, took it. The Istari nodded and whispered. "Put it somewhere out of sight."

Gandalf made his way towards the front door where a travel ready Morgan was waiting. She had changed into her dark green dress and leather shoes and was sporting a backpack with all the possessions that Bilbo gave to her plus what she brought from her original world. The books that Bilbo gave her were visible and solidly attached at the top of the pack and protected by leather. She held a very worried face and was avoiding eye contact.

Frodo blinked. "Morgan? You're about to…? Where are you two going?"

Gandalf took his hat and staff that Morgan was holding for him. "There are some things that I must see to. Places I must guide Morgan to."

Frodo shook his head. "What things? What places?"

Gandalf finished to look if Morgan was really ready to depart. "Questions and teachers. Questions that need answering. Teachers that need petitioning."

Frodo was beleaguered. "You've only just arrived. And we didn't say properly good bye to Lady Morgan. I don't understand."

Gandalf pushed Morgan outside the door. He looked troubled and turned around to face Frodo. "Neither do I." Outside, Morgan shook as her inexplicable terror seized her again.

Gandalf bended over so that he was face to face with Frodo. "Keep it secret." He placed his hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Keep it safe." He leaved, caught the hand of Morgan like the young girl she was and shut the door.

Frodo had just the time to see Morgan with a pale smile waving him goodbye. He then looked apprehensively at the sealed envelope in his hand.

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Notes: Well, I hope I didn't have created a monster. Unfortunately, even with the best of intention, there is many resemblance with other fan-fictions in the same genre. It is very difficult to be original without butchering the story.

Read and review, please. Thank you.


	6. The Shadow of Isildur

**TOLKIENIST AGAINST MARY-SUE**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Morgan and Vicky.

Notes: You will remark that I stay silent on the adventures of Morgan during the interval between the Party and the beginning of the Quest of the One Ring. It is intentional: I will develop it in the forms of flashbacks.

**Chap 5: The Shadow of Isildur.**

Years had passed since the Party of Bilbo Baggins and the departure of Gandalf the Grey and the mysterious Lady Morgan Uther Pendragon. Frodo Baggins felt disappointed when the regular visits of the old Wizard became few and far between.

However, he was agreeably surprised by the much more regular visits of the little protégé of the Grey Pilgrim. Morgan had grown up from a clumsy lost foreigner into a confident great Lady. The young woman had taken to travel alongside Gandalf in a routine. She would walked or rode with him for some months, learning all she can and all he allowed, then he would left her for months in any centres of knowledge they would reach.

Here, she would try to blend into the culture, using the fame of Gandalf and her own ways to act, and learned everything she could before the old Wizard came to take her again on the road. The young woman slowly acquired the reputation to be a travelling noble lore mistress and minstrel.

As time passed, Frodo was surprised to see how little Morgan changed physically through the years. It had been one of the few times when her gentle smile disappeared. She had explained that as far as her and every lore masters she asked known, she was aging as if the Blood of Numenor flowed into her veins, and yet she wasn't a Dùnedain. She was aging perhaps a year for every decades and it was worrying her.

At each of her visit, Frodo had also noted that her comportment changed as she was exposed to more and more of the various cultures of Middle-Earth. She had taken the habit to dress in light grey coloured travelling clothes: She said it was both a wink and homage to the fact that Gandalf the Grey had taken her under his wing. Besides, she liked the functionality and the simple beauty of those clothes and the way this colour brought out her raven hair and her deep black eyes. Pippin had even nicknamed her "The Grey Lady".

Frodo had discovered that she was sometimes as annoyingly mysterious as Gandalf. Although she spoke freely of her experiences with the Dwarves and elves communities that Bilbo or he had encountered, she remained tight-lipped on some regions that her travels brought her to.

But the Shire remained dear in her heart and Frodo and his close friends came to long for her visits especially because she always had something for them as gifts. She brought scrolls and some books to Frodo, seeds to Samwise Gamgee and little trinkets for Merry and Pippin.

And then, after a little more than sixteen years, the twin hands of Fate and Destiny reached again for certain threads.

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In the dark land of Mordor, the Mount Doom continued to belch fire and ash. Built near a chasm where a river of lava flowed, the black fortress of Barad-dûr projected a dark and edged light on all the land and its evil inhabitants. Under the inadequate harsh light of torches, Orcs endlessly worked for the will and command of their dark master and lord. Hammers were constantly beating black iron into weapons of war.

The Dark Lord had already moved and its agents had finally found the being they seek. Among the shadows and incessant noises, a painful voice shrilled.

"Shire! Shire! Baggins!"

The Gates of Minas Morgul opened and nine riders in black on black horses rode out from them, following the orders of their master. Sauron had begun to advance his pieces in the eternal game of the conquest of Middle-Earth.

But the forces of Light had never stopped to move as well.

Gandalf and Morgan rode up on horses a slope and looked out onto Mount Doom showing abnormal and intense activity nearby the capital of the Gondor. The Grey Wizard and the Grey Lady exchanged a worried look and then rode off at full speed to Minas Tirith.

Using their combined network of acquaintances and favours, the Master and his young Apprentice accessed to some deeply hidden and forgotten knowledge in a building full of old scrolls.

Rapidly, the Istari and the time-displaced girl began to search, classify and read a massive amount of books, scrolls and individual papers. The duo had time before to practice this way of searching a library for all of its useful knowledge.

Morgan searched everywhere, using her small size to her advantage. She then classified each discovery with a short superficial pre-reading and then gave it to Gandalf for a more thorough reading. She also prepared vast amounts of tea, because she will join in the lecture as soon as her own work is finished.

As she massaged her tired eyes under her glasses, Morgan smiled as Gandalf smoked a storm, reading the texts she had prepared for him. She sipped her tea and burrowed herself in a mountain of paper. Since the beginning of her association with the Wizard, she had taken a personal vow to help him in his task. Gandalf was part of the White Council, a vast organisation dedicated to the protection of Middle-Earth and the eradication of the Shadow.

Little by little, she had built a coherent vision of the multi-millennia conflict that began with Morgoth and she had drawn the conclusion that she couldn't go back to her own world as long as the forces of Evil threatened this universe. She wasn't sure of her exact role in this conflict, but something continued to whisper to her that she was here for a good reason.

Then, suddenly, Gandalf put down his mug of tea and frowned as he looked on an old scroll. He began to speak what he was reading for the benefit of Morgan who stopped her own reading for listening attentively.

"The year 3434, of the Second Age. Here follows the account of Isildur, High King of Gondor, and the finding of the Ring of Power." Morgan gulped: At least, a written trace of what they were searching for so long. A familiar headache hit her as Gandalf continued his reading. "It has come to me. The One Ring, which shall be an heirloom of my kingdom. All those who follow in my bloodline shall be bound to its fate, for I will risk no hurt to the Ring. It is precious to me though I buy it with a great pain. The markings upon the band begin to fade. The writing which at first was as clear as red flame, has all but disappeared, a secret now that only fire can tell." Gandalf stopped his reading and looked to Morgan with fear in his blue eyes: A fear that was reflected in the black eyes of the young woman.

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Somewhere in the Shire, a Hobbit was cutting some wood near his smial as the night was falling. His dog began to bark at something that approached. The Hobbit stopped and turned to the spectral apparition: A rider in black on a tall and powerful black horse. The rider had metal gloves and blood could be seen on the hooves of his mount. As terrorized as his master, the dog backed into the house, whimpering. The rider turned his head to the hobbit but nothing but shadows could be seen under his hood.

In a hissing, spectral voice, the rider addressed the hobbit, already under his spell. "Shire. Baggins."

His breath coming in short, the hobbit managed to stutter. "There's no Bagginses around here. They're all up in Hobbiton." The horse neighed as its red eyes flashed. Taking refuge in his house, the hobbit pointed the path away. "That way..."

The rider leaved in the metallic fracas of his mount.

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At that time in Hobbiton, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin were passing a good evening at the Green Dragon Inn.

Merry and Pippin were dancing and singing on a table as Frodo brought mugs of ale for him and Sam and danced around them.

_Hey ho, to the bottle I go_

_To heal my heart and drown my woe_

_Rain may fall and wind may blow_

_But there still be_

_Many miles to go_

_Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain_

_And the stream that falls from hill to plain_

_Better than rain or rippling brook_

Pippin took the final line. "Is a mug of beer inside this Took!"

The whole inn burst into laughter.

At the table of Sam and the Gaffer, an old hobbit smoked and frowned as he continued his discussion about local gossips. "There's been some strange folk crossing the Shire. Dwarves and others of a less than savoury nature."

The Gaffer shook his head. "War is brewing."

The old hobbit nodded. "Last time she came, I asked our dear young Grey Lady for confirmation: The Mountains are fair teeming with goblins."

A younger hobbit at their table snorted. "Far-off tales and children's stories, that's all that is." He sneered at the Gaffer. "You're beginning to sound like that old Bilbo Baggins. Cracked, he was. And we all know that a woman's tale is just that: Women's tales."

The Gaffer humphed. "As if you never listened to her tales. And young Mr. Frodo here, he's cracking."

Frodo smiled as he brought the mugs. "And proud of it. Cheers, Gaffer."

The hobbit smiled. "Cheers."

The younger hobbit tried to have the final word. "It's none of our concern what goes on beyond our borders." He looked intently to Frodo. "Keep your nose out of trouble, and no trouble'll come to you."

Frodo smirked. "Except when trouble comes FOR you."

At the end of the evening, Sam and Frodo leaved the inn, and passed by Rosie Cotton, a Hobbit Lass who was drying a cup. She smiled to Sam. "Good night, lads."

Sam smiled in return, his heart fluttering. "Good night."

An inebriated hobbit knelt before Rosie. "Good night, sweet maiden of the golden ale."

Sam frowned and darkly muttered under his breath. "Mind who you're sweet-talking."

Frodo leaned to him. "Don't worry, Sam. Rosie knows an idiot when she sees one."

Sam blinked. "Does she?"

Frodo and Sam arrived to Bag End and the nephew of Bilbo waved to his dear friend and gardener. "Good night, Sam."

"Good night, Mister Frodo."

Frodo entered Bag End and stopped at the door, frowning. The window was opened and his papers were flying about the house.

Suddenly, a hand reached for his shoulder from the shadow. He turned around in fright, and saw a dishevelled Gandalf. He jumped again as the door clacked behind him and blinked as he saw Morgan in dirty travel clothes, her glasses flashing under the cold light of the night, shutting it close. He openly gaped as he remarked that she was holding a naked long sword in her right hand.

Gandalf plunged his intense gaze into the blue eyes of the young hobbit. "Is it secret? Is it safe?"

Frodo began to search in a chest. Morgan and Gandalf were mounting guard and were jumping at the smallest sound outside the smial. Frodo finally reached the envelope where he had put the ring into. "Ah."

Gandalf grabbed it from him and threw it into the fire to the curiously intense dismay of the young hobbit. "What are you doing?"

Gandalf took the revealed golden ring out from the fire with tongs and held it out to Frodo. "Hold out your hand, Frodo." Frodo blinked at Gandalf. "It's quite cool."

Frodo held out his hand and blinked again as he expected the ring to be hot when Gandalf dropped it onto his palm.

Gandalf stood up from the fireplace. "What can you see? Can you see anything?"

From her place near the door, Morgan turned her head to the Hobbit. "Some letters or something?"

Perplexed by the comportment of his two friends, Frodo examined the ring in his hand. "Nothing. There's nothing."

Gandalf sighed in relief and Morgan closed her eyes, sliding along the wall to the floor, also in great relief. However, their eyes opened wide when Frodo continued. "Wait... There are markings." The dreaded words could be seen on the visage of Frodo, as if the letters produced their own red light. A terror that Morgan felt sixteen years ago seized anew her heart. "It's some form of Elvish. I can't read it."

Gandalf was holding steady his apprentice with the own intensity of his gaze. "There are few who can. The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here." Reassured that the young woman had regained her countenance, Gandalf turned to a dreadful Frodo.

"Mordor?!"

Gandalf nodded. "In the common tongue, it says: "One Ring to Rule them all, One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.""

Morgan returned her long sword to its sheath and plunged her intense black eyes in the blue eyes of the hobbit. Her voice took a strange otherworldly quality as if someone else was speaking though her. "Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne. In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them. In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie."

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The three friends found themselves sitting at the table where the One Ring lay at the centre. Gandalf was smoking, while Frodo prepared some tea. Morgan was slowly combing her hair: A quirk she had developed when she needed to calm herself.

Gandalf was looking at the ring as one looked on his worst enemy. "This is the One Ring, forged by the Dark Lord, Sauron in the fires of Mount Doom, taken by Isildur from the hand of Sauron himself."

Frodo's eyes widened as he cupped his mug of tea. "Bilbo found it. In Gollum's cave."

Gandalf nodded. "Yes. For 60 years the Ring lay quiet, in Bilbo's keeping, prolonging his life, delaying old age. But no longer, Frodo. Evil is stirring in Mordor. The Ring has awoken. It's heard its master's call."

Frodo shook his head. He knew his history. "But he was destroyed. Sauron was destroyed."

Morgan sighed. "If only…" Suddenly incomprehensible whispers came from the Ring, and the three looked at it, as though afraid of it.

Gandalf grimly continued. "No, Frodo. The spirit of Sauron endured. His life force is bound to the Ring, and the Ring survived. Sauron has returned. His Orcs have multiplied, his fortress of Barad-dûr is rebuilt in the land of Mordor. Sauron needs only this Ring to cover all the lands in a second darkness. He is seeking it. Seeking it, all his thought is bent on it." Once again, Morgan and Gandalf stared at the ring as if they were staring at a poised deadly poisonous snake. "The Ring yearns above all else to return to the hand of its master. They are one. The Ring and the Dark Lord. Frodo… He must never find it."

Frodo grabbed the ring and walked into the next room, as though seeking for a place to hide it. "All right. We put it away. We keep it hidden. We never speak of it again. No one knows it's here, do they?"

Gandalf followed him and remained silent. Morgan stayed behind her master, biting her lower lip and looking at the floor.

Frodo fearfully turned to them. "Do they, Gandalf? Morgan?"

The wizard shook his head. "There is one other that knew that Bilbo had the Ring. I looked everywhere for the creature Gollum and I managed to lock him under the guard of the elves of Mirkwood. But the enemy found him first. I don't know how long they tortured him for. But amidst the endless screams and inane babble, they discerned two words."

The screams of Gollum shrilled in the imagination of Gandalf and Morgan. "SHIRE! BAGGINS!"

Frodo was horrified. "Shire! Baggins?! But that would lead them here!"

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Somewhere in the Shire, the riders in black galloped across a road and surely neared where their prey was. A Hobbit held out a lantern to see who was making such a ruckus at this late hour. "Who goes there?" The hobbit's concerned expression turned to one of horror, as one of the riders swung a sword at his head.

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Frodo rushed to the Grey Wizard. "Take it Gandalf! Take it!" Frodo held out the Ring to Gandalf.

The Istari backed away fearfully. "No, Frodo."

Frodo urgently continued. "You must take it!"

Morgan ran between the two and barred the way of Frodo, using her own body as if she was shielding Gandalf from a blow. "NO! You CANNOT offer him this ring!"

Frodo then desperately changed of interlocutor. "Then, I'm giving it to you, Morgan!"

This time, Morgan backed away, her hands raised, as if she feared to be attacked on the spot. Gandalf caught her in his arms as if he was protecting her. "DON'T... tempt us, Frodo!"

In dismay, Frodo lowered his hand.

Gandalf continued to hold a shaking Morgan. "I dare not take it. Not even to keep it safe. None of us can take the risk to even touch it. Understand, Frodo, I would use this Ring from a desire to do good."

Morgan regained the control of her nerves. "Frodo… Through Gandalf… Even through me, it would wield a power too great and terrible to imagine." She fearfully stared at the ring. "My own world would be in danger of total destruction."

Frodo shook his head. "But it cannot stay in the Shire!"

Gandalf nodded. "NO. No it can't."

Frodo gulped and closed his hand over the Ring. "What must I do?"

Helped by Morgan who was muttering about all her previous work being undone, Frodo searched through a cupboard and packed to leave.

Gandalf approved. "You must leave. And leave quickly."

Frodo was thinking. "There is a smial at Crickhollow that I was planning on getting as a summer home. It's in the country, a little past Bucklebury."

Gandalf nodded. "Morgan will stay with you, just like an extended visit." He turned to his apprentice. "If you even glimpse the shadow of a shadow, get Frodo out of the Shire and make for the village of Bree."

Morgan grimly nodded as she finished helping Frodo.

Frodo tilted his head and walked out of his bedroom. "Bree... What about you, Gandalf?"

"Morgan has some means to reach me in that case. I'll be waiting for you or leaving instructions, at the inn of the Prancing Pony."

Frodo put some apples in his bag. "And the Ring will be safe there?"

"I don't know, Frodo. I don't have any answers." Morgan gulped as she packed a loaf of bread. She didn't have any answers herself, only guesses and conjectures. "I must see the head of my order. He is both wise, and powerful. Trust me, Frodo. He'll know what to do." Gandalf gazed into the black eyes of his protégé. "Well… This is it, Morgan…"

Morgan narrowed her eyes. "I know…" She smirked. "At least, now we know why the Valar had sealed my memory." She smiled sadly to her mentor. "The fate of the One Ring and my own fate are linked. Just as the bloodline of Isildur is bound to its fate."

Gandalf pressed his lips into a thin line. Curses! He considered Morgan as if she was his adoptive daughter and now, he was forced to risk her life and her soul because of his oath. He rejoined Frodo in the entry hall as he finished taking his travelling clothes. "You'll have to leave the name of Baggins behind you, for that name is not safe outside the Shire. Travel only by day, and stay off the road."

He gave to Frodo his walking stick. "I can cut across country easily enough with Morgan. And Fatty Bolger, Merry and Pippin had already prepared everything at Crickhollow." Frodo put the ring in his pocket and gazed up to Gandalf. Morgan was beside him in her grey travelling clothes and her own backpack and weapons were ready.

The old magician smiled to the pair. "My dear Frodo. Hobbits really are amazing creatures. You can learn all that there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet after a hundred years, they can still surprise you."

A clicking noise was suddenly heard from the window.

Gandalf motioned down the two. "Get down." Frodo dived on the floor. Morgan knelt and drew a curved dagger of Elven design from her back in her left hand. Gandalf took his staff and slowly moved towards the window. He then pointed his staff out of the window and hit something that cried in pain with a voice familiar to Frodo and Morgan. Quickly, he grabbed it from outside the window.

It turned out to be a very familiar male Hobbit. Growling, the Istari dropped him onto the table. "Confound it all, Samwise Gamgee! Have you been eavesdropping?!"

Sam shook fearfully his head. "I haven't been dropping no eaves, sir. Honest. I was just cutting the grass under the window there, if you follow me."

Frodo and Morgan stood up, a little smirk on their lips.

Gandalf put his hands on his hips. "A little late for trimming the verge, don't you think?"

Sam raised his hands in defence. "I heard raised voices..."

Gandalf narrowed his eyes. "What did you hear? SPEAK!"

Sam stuttered. "N-n-n-nothing important. That is I heard a good deal about a ring, Dark Lord, and something about the end of the world, but, please Mr. Gandalf, sir, please don't hurt me. Don't turn me into anything…unnatural...

Gandalf looked at him with a wicked light in his eyes. "Nooo...?" He winked at Morgan and Frodo who were smiling. "Perhaps not..." He leaned to a very worried Sam. "I've thought of a better use for you."

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The next day, at dawn, Gandalf was leading his horse into the woods, with Morgan, Frodo and Sam following him. Morgan had also a horse which she would use to transport the packs of her two friends and thus gaining time.

Gandalf turned to a rather charged Sam. "Come along, Samwise, keep up." As soon as they reached the woods, Gandalf continued his instructions. "Be careful, all of you. The enemy has many spies in his service: Birds, beasts..." The old wizard looked straight at Frodo. "Is it safe?"

Frodo put his hand over his coat pocket and palmed the ring inside.

Gandalf leaned to him. "Never put it on. For the agents of the Dark Lord will be drawn to its power. Always remember, Frodo: the Ring is trying to get back to its master. It wants to be found by any means possible." He looked behind Frodo. "In case of any doubt, listen to Morgan." Gandalf mounted his horse and galloped off into the woods. Birds were heard screeching around the, now alone, three friends. They looked to each others, sighed, shrugged and then began their long walk after securing their packs on Morgan's horse.

Sam, Frodo and Morgan set off, travelling across the countryside and cutting across farms and fields. After some time, they came to a field, with knee-high crops. And Sam stopped as he suddenly understood where he was. "This is it."

Morgan and Frodo stopped and turned to the gardener. Frodo raised an eyebrow. "This is what?"

"If I take one more step, it'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been."

Frodo smiled to Morgan and walked back towards Sam. "Come on, Sam."

Sam took finally a step and blushed as Morgan applauded to him.

Frodo chuckled and put his hand onto Sam's shoulder. "Remember what Bilbo used to say? "It's a dangerous business...""

Morgan smiled and continued one of the favourite sentences of her first teacher. Even after all this time, she never forgot it. "…"Frodo, going out your door. You step out onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.""

That night the trio settled up their camp sight near some large tree limbs. Morgan smiled as she smelled the dinner that Sam was cooking: It was one of the advantages to travel with hobbits. Frodo was taking a long relaxing pause by smoking on a tree limb.

Morgan was again slowly combing her long raven locks when she heard one of the most beautiful sounds in all Middle-Earth. She wasn't the only one as Frodo stopped smoking and listened as well. Frodo and Morgan exchanged a grin and the young hobbit leaned to his best friend. "Sam."

The gardener stopped his cooking and his eyes widened when a particular song reached his ears. Frodo and Morgan nodded to him. "Wood-elves."

The trio sneaked to the path where a line of elves were seemingly gliding along the ground. Even the horses had the same ethereal quality as their riders. They were all garbed in cloaks and dresses that seemed to shine with the particular light that only the elves could emit.

Morgan took a deep breath and let the magic of the song penetrating her core being.

_a Galad ren i veniar_

_hi' aladhremmin ennorath_

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel_

_ithil na thul, ithil lin hen"_

Sam was worried since Morgan was making no effort to hide herself. "Lady Morgan. Please hide yourself."

Still under the spell of the song, Morgan turned shining eyes to the gardener. "They already know we're here, Sam. It is their way to salute and honoured the Elf-Friends among us by letting us seeing and hearing them."

Frodo nodded. Both he and Morgan were considered as Elf-Friend, a very rare honour among the mortal races. "They're going to the harbour beyond the White Towers. To the Grey Havens."

Sam sadly nodded. "They're leaving Middle-Earth."

"Never to return." Frodo grimly finished.

Sam swallowed something in his throat. "I don't know why…it makes me sad."

A tear shone in the eye of Morgan and slowly fell along her cheek. "Because they were the First, our Elders and their time have come… The light they gave to this world will go with them, never to be seen again."

Sombre and yet with a renewed light in their hearts, the three friends regained their camp to dine and sleep for the next day.

Sam tried in vain to find a comfortable position for the night. "Everywhere I lie there's a dirty great root sticking into my back."

Frodo smiled on his bedroll. "Just shut your eyes and imagine you're back in your own bed with a soft mattress and a lovely feather pillow."

Now that's was quite the image, but after a moment, Sam sighed again. "It's not working, Mr. Frodo. I'm never going to be able to sleep out here."

Frodo smothered a chuckle. "Me neither, Sam."

Her eyes fixed on the glorious stars above, Morgan smiled and softly began to sing in Elvish. It was a lullaby of love and protection. Under the celestial fires, she called upon their powers to guard their bodies and dreams. As the words of power hung under the cover of the trees, a soothing sleep gently seized the three travellers under the protective gazes of the stars.

A very useful and needed protection because, much nearer than they thought, a rider in black was surveying the region from a hill.

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Notes: Not too bad. As I said in the beginning I mainly use the film as background and slip a few details from the book here and there. I hope it wasn't too confusing.

Why did I make Morgan wait sixteen years before doing something? Well, it's because the poor girl need a modicum of proper skills in order to survive the Quest of the Ring. I could have her protected by the Fellowship just like the Hobbits, but even Merry and Pippin had more useful skills than a normal modern student.

I don't think I made her a marysue, since most of her advantages had taken time and effort to be acquired.

Please read and review, thanks.


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